


All the Stars

by moonily



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-18 23:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonily/pseuds/moonily
Summary: A series of college drabbles where T'Challa and Erik are thirsty for each other. (Also Erik has no idea he is trying to woo the heir to Wakanda.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: T'Challa & Erik are not related by blood in this AU

Since his father didn’t really care what he did at university so long as he maintained a low profile and aced his core Diplomacy subjects, T’Challa hadn’t planned to stick around for his elective Introduction to African Art History lectures. _Planned_ being the operative word, and as a soon-to-be king of Wakanda, he would need to learn to stick to his plans. But there were other things he wanted to learn, T’Challa realised, as soon as the teaching assistant took centre stage and introduced himself as Erik.

Erik with his side-swept dreadlocks, geek-chic glasses, and wool jacket looked like an art history nerd right up until the moment he slipped his jacket off, biceps flexing as naturally as the sun shining, his perfect body outlined by the tight white shirt he was wearing, and T’Challa had to straight up remind himself not to stare for so long lest he be kicked out for being an A grade pervert.

As Erik began handing out sheets detailing the syllabus, their much older and less attractive professor finally entered and began speaking about the subject. When Erik arrived at T’Challa’s row, he smirked, as if having seen T’Challa’s obvious stare, the classic _up, down, back up again, don’t stare at his crotch to see if he has big balls_.

T’Challa responded with a tentative smile, taking the proffered hand-out without another word. When Erik continued on, T’Challa had expected the remainder of the lecture to proceed smoothly. Then the professor had insisted on everyone introducing themselves to the person next to them and Erik had casually slipped into the empty seat beside T’Challa, a whiff of his cologne startling T’Challa to attention.

“Hey, you gonna intro yourself or are you gonna keep staring?” Erik said, voice teasing. He had a slightly lopsided smile, the endearing type, the troublesome kind.

“I’m T’Challa,” he replied, after clearing his throat. He needed to not be so awkward if he was going to lead a nation. “I’m a Diplomacy major.”

“Oh?” Erik raised an eyebrow. “The son of an ambassador, I’m guessing?”

“Close enough.”

“Close enough? You sure are coy,” Erik said, laughing. “Okay, I’ll get to the point. I’m the TA, so obviously I’m going to be marking all the assignments and I know what shit will be in the exam. Most people try to cosy up to me as soon as they can, but hey, you’re different. Tell me more about you: your interests, why you chose this subject, whether you’re single or not, any boyfriends or girlfriends, fave sex position and missionary only counts if you a basic white and that you ain’t, what kinda career you want, y’know that kinda stuff.”

T’Challa hadn’t expected Erik to be the forward one. At first glance, Erik didn’t seem to give off any fuck boy vibes, not until he opened his mouth, and T’Challa rarely froze but Erik had him rooted to the spot, wondering if it’d be inappropriate to just admit that his favourite position would be underneath Erik – they had only just met, and in a lecture hall no less, not a club or a café.

“How about I give you my number,” T’Challa suggested, equal parts wary and excited, “and we can figure out the rest from there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fwbs soon????? their chemistry is too much uwu


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> went to watch black panther a 2nd time just to figure out some extra details (and also to appreciate t'cherik hehehe)

“Giving your number out to strangers is foolish of you,” Okoye reprimanded after the lecture had ended, giving T’Challa the fortitude to escape Erik’s bewitching aura.

“MIT is a big place,” T’Challa reasoned as he and Okoye walked through the campus to their next class. “This is how the Americans go about making friends. My father cannot expect me to remain acquaintance-less forever.”

“No,” Okoye agreed, steadfast and loyal as ever. Okoye was a palace guard who had been chosen to follow and protect T’Challa even while he was studying abroad. She hadn’t been keen on the idea of enrolling in the same classes, but for the sake of their country, she always did what was needed. “But I hope you know that whom you were speaking to has no intention of remaining an acquaintance.”

“I know.” T’Challa grinned, and Okoye rolled her eyes.

 

*

 

When T’Challa next met Erik, it was at a café. After having spent a whole night browsing Erik’s Instagram that was flooded with videos of him working out and the like, T’Challa had felt low-key awkward talking to Erik at all now that he knew for certain what Erik looked like without a shirt. And boy did Erik look godly, but that was beside the point.

“Yo, what up?” Erik called from where he was at the counter. He had the Starbuck’s trademark green apron on, the outline of his body accentuated by his tight black shirt and jeans.

T’Challa decided against looking like a coward and walking away as he had initially intentioned. “Nothing much. Just wanted to try a Frappuccino, since my sister is extremely fond of them. She says she does not care if she’s adopting the basic white girl culture – it is apparently _that_ good.”

Erik laughed. “Your sister sounds like a real riot. What flavour did you want to try?”

The café was not too busy at the time, so T’Challa browsed the menu languidly only to end up answering with, “I will have whatever you recommend.”

“All right, how about I make you one on the house?” Erik turned around before T’Challa could insist on paying for the drink, leaving T’Challa to appreciate Erik’s backside.

Erik unfortunately caught T’Challa’s eyes lingering a tad too long but made no comment about it. Instead, he handed over the ice blended green drink. “Want some whip?” Erik asked, an eyebrow raised.

“What?” T’Challa wondered if this was American slang for something naughty, not that he would mind.

“Whipped cream,” Erik clarified, slightly amused.

“Oh, sure, although it will mean I have to work it off later,” T’Challa replied, watching Erik shake the cream dispenser and squirt it artfully in a swirl.

“Mind if I join you?” Erik asked, placing a lid on the drink. He wiped off the excess cream spilling forth from the brim with a slide of his finger and did the unthinkable (or the often thought about, in T’Challa’s case). Erik brought the finger to his lips, licking the cream off with a flick of his tongue, and T’Challa felt his mouth go dry at the sight. Breaking T’Challa out of his reverie, Erik slid the drink over, a smirk on his lips. “A matcha frappe for you.”

T’Challa was left speechless, not having met someone this forward before – not even Nakia was this obvious. He also hadn’t met someone who left him reeling like this, someone who affected him like this – not since Nakia, at least. Sticking a straw into the drink, he took a sip. “Not bad, a bit sweet.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Erik said, “which part of Africa are you from?”

T’Challa took another sip, watching Erik’s eyes linger on his lips. “Wakanda,” T’Challa said, deciding on the truth.

“No way, I’m from there too!” Erik grinned. “Well, actually, my father is from there and I’ve never been, but he tells me the sunsets there are the most beautiful.”

“They are.” T’Challa found it surprising Erik knew of Wakanda, a country that hardly anyone knew of unless they were working for the United Nations with an interest in third world countries. Not that Wakanda was actually a third world country, but T’Challa had to keep that masquerade up for the country’s security.

Before Erik could ask any more questions about Wakanda, a clique of sorority girls entered, giggling when they spotted Erik. “My shift ends at five,” Erik whispered with a wink at T'Challa, then making his way to serve the customers.

T’Challa wondered why Erik would assume he would wait until Erik’s shift ended. T’Challa was a busy man after all, but then he thought, _Fuck it, might as well_ , as he took a seat in the corner, pulling out a tablet device that Shuri had designed. Cutting edge, lightweight, solar powered, and superior to the rudimentary iPads of this country.

When T’Challa glanced at the counter again, he found Erik with a pleased smile on his face, and T’Challa had to turn away so that Erik wouldn’t see that he was just as thrilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im literally just posting these drabbles as soon as i write them since i dont rly have a lot of time to write thx to uni (i swear imma write a proper fic soon because it's what t'cherik deserve) T_T but thank you everyone for the kind comments i've received. i really appreciate all the support and i read and love every comment ♥


	3. Chapter 3

When Erik had invited him out, T’Challa had assumed he meant to a nightclub or the cinemas, not a museum showcasing historical African artefacts. But then again, he _was_ flirting with an African Art History TA.

“See, this was actually stolen from the people of Nigeria; this, from Zambia,” Erik said, listing off facts like a machine gun fires out bullets. “This one – I’m pretty sure it’s from Wakanda.”

T’Challa took a closer look at the sickle, making a noise of appreciation, and replied, “Why do you come to these exhibits if seeing these artefacts on display only serves to irritate you?”

“’Cuz it’s our culture. Even if it pisses me off, seeing these white people acting like they didn’t steal everything, I guess it’s better than them pretending we don’t exist.” Erik pocketed his hands, shrugging. His eyes were downcast. “I guess I’d rather they see us as something to display than as a culture to wipe out, but I’d definitely argue they’ve spent most of their time trying to assimilate us black people. I wish we could take back what’s ours.”

T’Challa slung an arm around Erik’s shoulders. Really broad shoulders. Damn was Erik always this broad and big? “It’s true that people like us have never been treated well, but I believe that improvements are being made, as slow as they may be.” As Erik turned to look at him, T’Challa met his strong gaze. “And at times, all we may have is hope for a better future, but I think it is better to hope than to act in a way that makes us become like our oppressors.”

“That’s some deep shit you’re saying,” Erik said, in his typical off-hand way to show he wasn’t comfortable with how the conversation was going. Maybe most people did not disagree with Erik’s ideologies, but T’Challa was not most people.

T’Challa smiled, the kind he smiled at diplomatic meetings and the like, the kind he learnt from his father, the kind he used to dispel tense situations. Moving around to face Erik, T’Challa pushed back Erik’s dreads to bare his forehead. Erik’s eyes were tender, different to the façade he showed. Maybe that was what had always drawn T’Challa to Erik, that beneath the tough, hardy exterior there was more – a more that promised thoughtfulness and generosity, affection and warmth. “I know it is hard to hope when you are scared, but you are not alone, Erik,” T’Challa said, quiet as a whisper.

Erik heard him loud and clear. Instead of replying, Erik cupped his face, pressing their lips together. T’Challa kissed back, surprised for only a second before he opened his mouth for more, bunching his hands in Erik’s shirt. Erik was warm and kissed with the fury and passion of a wild animal.

Pushed against the display case, T’Challa remembered they were in public, and Okoye was most likely judging from a distance. Then Erik bit his lip, and T’Challa remembered why he had been having so many wet dreams about the man he was making out with.

“Excuse me, sirs, but this is a museum,” said the scandalised voice of the lady who was probably the museum curator. “And you should not be touching the—”

While Erik flipped the curator off, not taking his mouth off T’Challa to rip the white lady a new one, T’Challa could hear security being called, and as much as he enjoyed kissing Erik, he wasn’t too fond of receiving lectures from his father on how to behave decently in public.

Pulling back, T’Challa grinned at Erik. “We should go,” T’Challa said, Erik’s hand groping at his ass. “Come, Erik, let’s go elsewhere.”

As T’Challa pulled on Erik’s hand to lead him out of the museum, he heard Erik call out to the curator, “I touched the art,” motioning to T’Challa.

T’Challa rolled his eyes. Erik was one of a kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear itll get spicier u3u


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg ive been so busy w uni lately but still found the time to watch BP for the 3rd time today uwu ofc i love BP & tcherik so much that i finally Finally wrote smth spicy hallelujah

The invitation started with Nakia saying, “It’s a costume party,” and ended with, “You should definitely come.” Nakia might be an ex-girlfriend, but T’Challa still considered her a good friend, a confidant in times of crisis, and fantastic at giving advice. Except this time.

“A costume party?” T’Challa repeated quizzically, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why is it a costume party?”

“Because they’re fun,” Nakia replied, shaking her head as though she was used to T’Challa being unused to non-Wakandan culture. “You know what, just come early and I’ll help you look the part.”

And that was how T’Challa ended up in a kitty ears headband and a skin tight black cat costume. Bonus unnecessary tail with a pink bow where it attached to his tailbone too.

“I was saving that for Halloween – was going to go as Catwoman, but you fit it perfectly,” Nakia said, and T’Challa knew it in his heart that Nakia would never wear such a costume. The woman was the devil and before T’Challa could call her out on that, the doorbell rang and Nakia head off to greet the other guests, leaving T’Challa to receive plenty of unabashed stares and making him feel out of place.

Right, because somehow Nakia had thought it would be funny for him to be the only one in costume, and everyone else not.

“Oh, never thought I’d find you at a party.”

T’Challa turned around, facing Erik, pleasantly surprised. “What makes you say that?” T’Challa appraised Erik’s clothes – simple but attractive: tight jeans and a black undershirt that drew all the attention to the hard muscles of his body.

“You’ve always had that uptight posture. Even now in a costume like that,” Erik said, looking T’Challa up and down, raising an eyebrow at the cat ears and tail, “you still carry yourself with pride.”

“Well, I look good in this,” T’Challa replied, throwing his arm around Erik’s shoulders. “And I know you think that too. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Erik laughed. “You’re not wrong.”

Strangely, Erik did not drink as much alcohol as T’Challa had thought a stereotypical college student would. “I like to stay clear headed. Plus, it’s not good for your body,” Erik had said, leading T’Challa to the dancefloor and choosing to dance—grind against T’Challa. T’Challa wasn’t sure what to call the dancing, if it was dancing at all. Americans had a funny way of doing things after all.

“You are using this as an excuse to touch me,” T’Challa realised.

“You only _just_ figured?” Erik said, amused.

“If you wanted to get close, you could have simply said so,” T’Challa replied, as Erik’s hands went from T’Challa’s waist to his ass. A quick glance around told T’Challa that both Okoye and Nakia were in the corner, sipping on their cocktails with obvious enjoyment at the situation T’Challa was currently in. “We should go somewhere more private.”

“Starting to think you’re not a fan of exhibitionism,” Erik quipped, humming. He took T’Challa by the wrist and led him to the bathroom, banging on the door until the poor girl stepped out looking confused. Unapologetically shooing the girl away with a glare, Erik pushed T’Challa into the bathroom, asking, “Is this private enough?”

“What are we doing?” T’Challa replied, as Erik locked the door.

Erik shrugged his shoulders, leaning in close to T’Challa and saying, “Whatever the fuck we want.” Burying his lips in T’Challa’s neck, Erik kissed harshly, all teeth dragging forth hickeys, his hands roaming the planes of T’Challa’s body.

T’Challa embraced Erik, biting down his moans and gripping Erik through his jeans. “What are we?” T’Challa asked, emboldened by the way Erik was reacting, the way his hips bucked at T’Challa’s firm massage. When Erik didn’t reply, T’Challa took the liberty to unzip Erik’s jeans, sliding his hand in to grip Erik’s hardening dick. “You go – what’s the word – commando?”

“Like it?” Erik grinned as he thrust into T’Challa’s hand.

T’Challa wasn’t sure what prompted him to get to his knees – maybe it was Erik’s moans or the thickness in his hand, but he took Erik’s erection in his mouth, feeling the heaviness on his tongue and breathing in through his nose as he let Erik take control. Erik’s hands in his hair, T’Challa could taste Erik’s pre-come, could feel the slow and steady pace of Erik fucking into his mouth that began to stutter as Erik reached his peak. Flicking his tongue against the head of Erik’s dick, T’Challa gave the best dick sucking of his life, and Erik came soon after, spilling into T’Challa’s mouth.

“No need to swallow,” Erik mumbled, looking flushed as he zipped his pants up. “Also I would totally blow you right now, but I have no idea how you’re meant to get out of that costume.”

T’Challa spat the come out in the sink, washing his mouth, and then pulled Erik in for a kiss. “You have plenty of time to figure it out,” T’Challa teased.


End file.
